I suggested it might be the legacy she wanted, although later in life she'd likely want change it. Right now, she's known for something.
It's a common refrain when a famous person does something scandalous: "That will be in the first sentence of their obituary."
Maybe it's not a common refrain for people who never wrote the occasional obituary for the Daily Republic. Still, when you think of how someone is perceived, it often comes down to one thing that others use to define them.
It might be perception, not reality. Someone can be "known" for being generous when they're just self-promoting. Or for being harsh when they're privately tender. They can be known for being warm when they're cold to those closest to them.
But enough about my family of origin. Ha ha. You don't know whether to laugh or feel pity for me because I might either be making something up or making an inappropriate joke, something I'm somewhat known for doing (just ask the 1991 Fairfield High Scarlett Brigade Band or people offended by my dumb jokes about the Malaysian Airliner that disappeared in 2014. You probably don't remember those things, but I a few people do).
But back to the main point. Events can define people: Consider how the perception of O.J. Simpson changed in 1994. Consider how Donald Trump's public perception changed in 2016. Consider how Bill Cosby's reputation went from loveable everyman to creepy rapist.
But let's make it simpler and more striking: For what are you known?
To many of my co-workers, I'm the former sports writer who was also a pastor for a while. I'm more than that, but those are true.
Are you the woman who is always friendly and willing to help others? Are you the nice neighbor who welcomes people when they move in? Are you the guy who flies off the handle when the pressure increases at work? Are you the boring person who doesn't pick up cues when others don't want to hear a detailed story of your vacation when you were 18?
Most of us object when someone tries to identify us by how we're known by their associates. "Oh, you're Bob's friend who always borrows money," or "Aren't you the woman who cried in the office that one time?" or "That's right, you're the Little League coach." Even if the identity is flattering, we know that we're more than how they just described us. We're not just a worker or a parent or a child or a coach or a neighbor or a bad driver or a sibling of someone.
We're all those things. One thing doesn't define us. If we're a parent, we're also someone's child and probably someone's sibling. If we're an employee or a boss, we're also someone who has hobbies and friends and likes a certain kind of music. If we're quiet, we know that we sometimes are louder or wish someone would ask our opinion.
We know all those things about ourselves. Still, when asked about someone we barely know, we think of them in two-dimensional ways: Oh, he's the guy at work who steals other people's lunches. Or she's the woman at church who remembers my name. Or they're the couple that never mows their lawn.
Then we think others should know us as multi-leveled, multi-tiered people who are many things.
If we only remembered the truth: Most people think of us as two-dimensional figures about 1% of the time. The other 99%? We're nowhere in their thoughts.
So now there's something else I can be known for: I'm the guy who writes rambling columns that end up in a different place than they started. Although the truth is I'm a two-dimensional figure (literally, if you can see my photo with this column) who will leave your thoughts within the next few minutes.
Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.
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